A Perfect Moment: Gift
by Firemare
Summary: Second installation of A Perfect Moment. A complete story in one page. Very short. This one's got a young Scott in it!


A Perfect Moment (story 2) Another fluff story. R&R!  
  
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Scott Summers slid out of the movie theater blinking at the light. Even with his glasses on, the sun was brighter than the theater itself, and it hurt. He slid his gaze to Jean, knowing that she couldn't see his eyes under his shades. He drank in the sight of her, as her hair reflected the sun, sliding over her shoulders in untidy waves. How long had he known her? Four years? Five? When his gaze had turned deadly, she was one of the first to welcome him to the mansion. Her and the Professor.   
  
She turned, laughing at something Ororo had said, and grinned at him. "What did you think?" she called, over the crowd of people pressing from the filled movie theater.   
  
"I liked the outfits," he said, using his height to easily come closer to the girls. They each slung an arm in his, so he had two ladies on his arms. "The suits and coats were pretty cool."  
  
"And the shades," she teased, tapping her finger on his ruby-red sunglasses.   
  
"Yeah, the shades," he said resignedly. His glasses were such clunkers now. He was nineteen! He needed something with style! The thick, plastic-rimmed frames made him look terrible. Sometimes---a lot of the time---he hated them. He wanted to stop those rays coming from his eyes, to go back to being a normal kid again. But his gaze went back to Jean. There was also something to be said for being a mutant, he thought, looking up and down her slender frame. She moved with such assurance, such confidence. He had been shocked when the Professor disclosed that Jean was afraid of her own talents, that she had never taken them to the farthest of her abilities.   
  
They reached the car, a sleek red Pontiac convertible his foster family had given him for his sixteenth. He held open the door for both of them, bowing over his hand like he was some fancy chauffeur. Ororo laughed, and Jean grinned, accepting his hand as he lowered them into the seats. Storm was in the backseat, while Jean called shotgun and rode up next to Scott.   
  
As he went around to his side, he saw Jean extend her hand from the car, 'helping' him into his seat as he had helped her. A smile crept over his lips and he took her hand, stepping inside. Reluctantly he released it to start the car, and he was surprised as she draped it casually over the back of his seat, fingers gently brushing the tips of his hair on his neck. She threw her other arm over the edge of the car as they pulled out into the road, her other hand dangling in the wind. Scott slid her a glance as he sped up along the highway. He watched as the wind picked up her hair and began playing with it as she closed her eyes and tilted her head into the wind. Her hand behind his neck was a comfortable, secure weight, but it did not move closer. He sighed, turning his full attention back to the road. Would she ever know how he felt?   
  
After a few moments of riding in silence, something about Jean caught his eye. He glanced over to see the wind, which had been playfully flying through her hair a few moments earlier, doing something completely different. Her hair, almost all by itself, was being styled into two enormous devil horns, twisted and tied by the wind. He threw a look over his shoulder, at Ororo sitting in the back seat. Her eyes were filled with silver, and she winked at him before returning to the task at hand. Finally Jean seemed to notice. She blinked at Scott, shifted to look at Ororo, and apparently felt something different move with her hair. She put a hand to her head in fear, and when she felt the horns, she gasped. Jean spun around, glaring at Ororo. The weather witch grinned and shrugged her shoulders innocently. Jean's hair began to unravel quickly, and Scott could tell that she was using her mutation to move it back to the normal position.   
  
"You had better watch out," Jean groused. "I know where you sleep, Storm."  
  
"I dunno," Scott quipped. "I think I kinda liked it." When she turned her angry glare at him, he copied Ororo's shrug. "It shows your inner self," he added cheerfully.   
  
"You… you…" she groped for a word, and fell silent. He suddenly felt his seatbelt grow tighter, almost painfully so. Gasping, he glanced at her. "I don't want you to get hurt," she said, in an almost angelic voice, and then ruined it by adding, "because I've got plans for you, Shades."  
  
"I quiver in fear," he replied, still short of breath. It didn't come out as sure of itself as it was supposed to.  
  
She grinned in return, and put her chin in her hand, contemplating. Occasionally a smile or an evil grin would cross her face, and then he would really start to worry.   
  
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A few weeks later he was working on some homework in his room when there was a knock on his door. It was accompanied by the familiar mind-brush that Jean always used when trying to get his attention. He wondered if she ever did that with anyone else. Warily he crossed the room, cracked the door open, and jumped back, one hand on his glasses.   
  
Jean stood there, looking surprised as the door opened the rest of the way. She had a short, squarish package in her hands, but nothing else. "Um, is this a bad time?" she asked, looking at him cautiously.   
  
"Uh, no," he stuttered, slowly lowering his hand. "Come on in."  
  
She looked at him, and realization crossed her face. "Oh," she said, starting to laugh. "I wasn't thinking about that. I don't have anything," she said, stepping inside. "Although it might be a good idea," she started, glancing around the room speculatively.   
  
"No way," he jumped in, about to shove her out the door again. But she pressed her package into his hands.  
  
"Here."  
  
"What..?" he asked, opening the box, half expecting something to leap out at him. Nothing did.  
  
Instead, inside the package nestled in some tissue paper was a pair of sleek sunglasses. They were mirror shades with wire rims, and a faint red tint to the lenses was all that stopped them from being just like the ones worn by the young actor in the movie they had seen. He brushed the edge of them gently with a finger.   
  
"They've got quartz lenses, so you can wear them," Jean said quietly. "Professor Xavier helped me darken them enough so that they would look reflective like that."  
  
He slowly raised his head to meet her gaze. He knew she couldn't see his eyes behind his shades, but somehow their eyes met, and she held them firm. "How… how did you know?" he asked.  
  
"After seeing you watch that movie, I knew," she replied, leaning against his desk. She tilted her head at him. "Besides, I know you, Scott," she added.  
  
He closed his eyes and put the shades on, feeling them rest lightly on his ears as if they had been molded to his head. They might have been. He looked down at her, and her eyes scanned his face, smiling when she apparently liked what she saw. Then it hit him: she did know him. She knew him personally, on a level that no one else had and may never again. She had known him for five years, and since he always seemed to turn to her when he was in trouble, she knew how he felt about his father, his mutation, his foster families, and the school itself. She had heard his hopes and goals for the future. The only thing she probably didn't know was that he had loved her since he first put eyes upon her, when the Professor had handed him his first pair of sunglasses. That he planned to remedy as soon as possible.   
  
Her perusal of his face came back to rest upon his eyes, and she caught something in them that made her run her tongue across her lips nervously. She stepped back a little, and ran into the desk behind her. "Uh, Scott," she began.  
  
"Jean," he said softly, and a quiver went through her body that even he could see. He didn't listen to reason, didn't listen to his head. For once he just let his heart and body react, and placing his hands gently on her cheekbones, devoured her mouth in a hungry kiss.  
  
The shock that rippled through her he could feel, could sense it slightly in his mind, and he realized that she was projecting; everything she felt, he could too. It was wonderful, something that heightened the situation between them, and he tried to tell her that in his mind: that he liked it and didn't want it to stop. And that's when he felt her respond, feeling her lips press equally fervently against his, her hands reach up to twine about his neck. One of his hands slid lower, to rest on her hip as he pulled her to him, her slender frame pressed against his body. His hormones raged, sending fire racing along his veins, and he knew she felt it too. He knew, in the back of his mind, that he had to stop. Otherwise they'd soon be sprawled across his bed or maybe even on the floor or the desk behind them. So he finally broke the contact, gasping for breath and trying to steady himself after that earth-shattering kiss. Jean raised a hand to her lips in shock, and then her eyes rose to meet his.   
  
"Thanks for the glasses?" he said, offering that as an excuse. She still had time to leave, to slap him for taking liberties. Jean was a woman who could take care of herself---  
  
"Then I guess it's my turn to say 'you're welcome'," she said, coming to him again. Scott saw the slight question in her eyes, opened up his arms to her, and gave himself up for loved.   
  
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Down in his study, Charles Xavier felt something, some strong emotions, coming from Scott Summer's room. He brushed the edges of the minds of his two favorite students in the room and realized what was going on. He carefully erected a guard around the room so that no one would think of entering for a while. He went back to his newspaper, smiling slightly.  
  
"About time." 


End file.
